My Beloved (Johnlock)
by Z0MBiiE
Summary: Sherlock decides to make a life-changing decision: a marriage proposal to his boyfriend, Dr. Watson. Will Sherlock's world come crashing down around him or will it be complete? Johnlock. Fluff. In progress.
1. Preparations

A/N: Alright, yes, I know I'm still not done with A Merry Little 221B, but this demanded to be written! I swear. I was listening to this lovely song "Beloved" by VNV Nation and thinking about Season 3, then got this idea.  
Anyway! This is fluffy and not-so-canon Johnlock goodness. I'm thinking about turning it into a full-fledged fic... What do you guys think?  
Also, thank you to all of my viewers/reviewers/etc.! 3

Warning: I don't own Sherlock, BBC, or anything Sir Arthur Conan Doyle related.

* * *

The balding Italian shook his head furiously, shifting the phone to his shoulder so he could pick up a bowl of homemade spaghetti sauce and stir in the oregano he had just thrown in.

"No, I'm not open today, AT ALL. A very famous celebrity - who happens to be a close friend of mine, mind you - has reserved the restaurant tonight to propose to his fiancé," Angelo sighed in frustration.

"I don't give a damn if you've got an army in visiting from the States. Bring them to dinner tomorrow," With that, he hung up the phone, stowing the mostly prepared sauce in the refrigerator.

Angelo glanced up at the clock high on the kitchen wall, noting the time. Only ten more minutes until he needed to pop the meatballs in the oven, and only about forty-five minutes until Sherlock would be here. Shortly after, Dr. Watson would be making an appearance, meaning that the nearly two hundred tea lights Sherlock had left here would need to be lit, along with the traditional tapers on the dinner table. Rose petals would need to be sprinkled, food would need to be finished, and congratulations given.

Smiling with genuine happiness for the couple, he exited the kitchen, humming, to begin covering the dining room with white and red petals, making sure to set a few handfuls aside for the entrance.

* * *

Meanwhile, Sherlock Holmes was pacing about the living room of 221B Baker Street nervously, a small box clenched in his fist. Coming to a halt, he gazed upon the black velvet-covered cube with a frown. In general, he did not get nervous; after all, he solved crimes for a living and was generally void of emotion. That is, until a certain discharged army doctor came psychosomatically limping into his life.

With their relationship had come emotionally-involved things to worry about: showing John affection on a daily basis, getting the shopping every once in a while, listening to the "we knew its" and such. But this was a completely different situation: a life-changing one, and Sherlock was only 92.7 percent sure that John Watson would take his hand in marriage. If John accepted, Sherlock would love nothing more than to just sweep the doctor off to the nearest form of marriage authentication and just get it over with.

However…

Mycroft had already threatened him the very hour Sherlock had purchased the ring that they were to be having a real wedding, and that he wouldn't be needing to worry about the details. At first the detective had been furious, but he quickly deduced that John would probably want a real wedding with their "friends" and everyone invited, anyway. Best to let Mycroft worry with the messier parts so that he wouldn't have to.

Letting out a sigh, Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time. Time to get dressed, then, as he supposed it really wouldn't be appropriate to propose in his robe. But first, he tapped out a quick text to John and sent it along its way, now determined.

'Dinner at Angelo's. See you then. -SH'


	2. Reflections

Dropping himself into his desk chair to immediately prop his feet up on his desk afterwards, John Watson had to admit: he was tired. It was the middle of January and the weather had been simply atrocious, meaning that a flu and cold epidemic had washed over London. He was tired of dealing with all of these people complaining about their stuffy noses and coughs, longing for the days when he felt like he had actually made a difference. Being a doctor in the military was not, by any means, easy, or often enjoyable.

However, John felt that stitching up bullet wounds from combat and salving burned flesh from detonated bombs had been useful, meaningful work. He wanted to tell these people that going down to the corner drug store and buying themselves over-the-counter medication would have worked nearly the same, and certainly would have cost them far less. With a sigh, he let his eyelids flutter closed, glad that in just thirty minutes' time he would be headed home to Sherlock.

He was thinking that he may try to convince the detective to give him a massage or perhaps have a bath with him when his phone alert went off, signaling that he had gotten a text message. Reluctantly opening his eyes, he awkwardly shifted in the chair so he could retrieve the phone from his pocket. At seeing it was from Sherlock, John raised his eyebrows, swiping his thumb to unlock the phone and read the message.

'Dinner at Angelo's. See you then. -SH'

He groaned at the thought of going out to eat after such a long day, just wanting to go home and have a bath or watch some crap telly on the couch with his boyfriend. He began thinking, however, and decided that it would be a nice change to not have to cook dinner or order takeaway. In fact, John couldn't remember the last time that he and Sherlock had went out for a meal together that didn't involve socialization with others or a case. Not to mention he was sure that Sherlock had not eaten in at least two days, only sipping tea and pacing about the house like a maniac. Smiling a bit, he tapped out a response and hit send.

'That sounds lovely. -JW'

Putting down his phone and returning his feet to the ground, he picked up a pen and began signing off on his paperwork for the day.

* * *

Angelo had just finished lighting the last candles and was then sliding the meatballs into the oven when Sherlock came around the corner into the kitchen. The older man smiled, closing the oven's door and going over to his pantry to gather the noodles and a tray of fermenting bread sticks that he had made that morning.

"Soooo? Dr. Watson coming to dinner, then?" Angelo asked with a grin, lying his supplies down on the counter.

"Yes, actually. But that was the easy part, of course. Now I've got to convince him to marry a sociopath; a far more daunting task."

The detective eyed the Italian as he worked, noting that Angelo had went through the pains of hand-crafting even the noodles for the special occasion. Lowering his eyes momentarily, he allowed himself to be touched by the man's kindness before he raised his gaze once more.

"I saw the dining room."

Angelo raised his eyebrows, ladling sauce into a pot to be warmed up before placing a cover atop the pot.

"Yes? Did you-"

"It's perfect. Thank you, Angelo."

The older man smiled, obviously pleased with himself, as he dropped the noodles into a boiling pot of water. He knew not to comment any further, aware that the detective rarely said thank you, and a 'you're welcome' may embarrass him. Sliding the bread sticks into a different oven with a different temperature, Angelo cleared his throat.

"I'm sure he'll say yes, Sherlock. Who could deny you, eh?"

With a short pause, the detective nodded, not meeting the Italian's eyes.

"I hope you're right."


	3. Doubts

**A/N: I hope everyone is enjoying this fluffy little fic! I'm thinking about going beyond the proposal to write the wedding as well... How does everyone feel about that? As always, thank you so much to all of my readers/followers/reviewers! You guys are great. 3**

I do not own anything Sherlock, BBC, or Arthur Conan Doyle related.

* * *

Forty minutes later found John Watson sliding into a cab, a bit late, admittedly, but now merrily on his way to have dinner with Sherlock. He had perhaps taken a bit too long to change and freshen up his deodorant and cologne, but really, he and Sherlock never went out much and this was special. Well, to John it was special, to Sherlock it was probably just the fact that he had finally gotten hungry and Angelo's was one of his favorite places to eat, especially since it was always free of charge. A sudden alert tone made the doctor frown, pulling the phone out of his jacket pocket to read the incoming text.

'On your way? -SH'

John blinked, suddenly feeling very stupid. Sherlock had never said that this dinner was not for a case, he had merely told him to come to Angelo's. Chewing his lip with the last of his hope, he tapped out a response.

'In a hurry? -JW'

A nearly immediate reply; Sherlock must have been watching his phone intently.

'Yes, actually. -SH'

Letting out a deep sigh, John shook his head, putting his phone back into his pocket without replying. He really should have known that Sherlock would be stalking some criminal or meeting with a client. The detective was never really much of a romantic, even now that they were together. Sherlock struggled to make himself do simple actions of affection that John found himself doing very naturally. The dark-headed man rarely said 'I love you' first or offered to cuddle with John on the couch, and he especially had a hard time initiating sex with the doctor.

While John understood that Sherlock was a lot like an awkward teenage boy, he really wished the brilliant man would realize how much John loved him and that showing him affection was very welcome at any time. John had thought, for a few fleeting moments, that his boyfriend had finally just asked him to dinner to spend time with him. Huffing at himself, he crossed his arms across his stomach, allowing himself some time to pout before Sherlock saw him. It did no good to chastise Sherlock, because most of the time he honestly had no idea that he had done anything to hurt John's feelings in the first place. Best to pout now and get it over with.

* * *

Meanwhile, Angelo was sincerely considering killing Sherlock, or at least knocking the psychopath out and hiding him in the basement for a while. The detective had progressively become more and more nervous, and therefore more annoying in his actions. Sherlock had started tapping his fingers, then firing questions at the Italian about all sorts of things, then pacing, and now the man had begun shouting. First Sherlock had been shouting at his phone, noting that John was late, and now he was just pacing about the restaurant ranting about how he didn't know how to propose properly and how he wasn't good at this romance thing and now John had made him much more nervous than was really needed.

"Sherlock, mate. I understand that you're nervous, but stuff it, will ya?"

The Italian man raised his eyebrows, staring at Sherlock as he jerked to a halt, opened his mouth to retort, then closed it.

"But he's late."

The detective sighed, leaning up against the doorway and forcing himself to relax a little. If John said no, it would merely be the end of his world, not John's. Sherlock could deal with his own unhappiness, but to see John unhappy would be intolerable; thus, he sincerely hoped that the doctor would say yes. Outside, a car door slammed, and Sherlock jerked to stand straight up, running a nervous hand over the small box in his pocket. Peering around the kitchen corner, Angelo grinned widely, walking toward the door.

"John is here, Sherlock."


	4. Proposals

**A/N: Sorry that this update is so short! I've had some miscellaneous activities going on, but I had to pull through and write the proposal. It was just killing me. But I hope everyone enjoys!**

* * *

"Is he?"

The detective asked nervously, clearing his throat before moving into the hallway, trying to look as relaxed and nonchalant as possible as he leaned against the doorway leading to the dining room. Angelo rushed outside, holding the door open for the doctor with a large grin. However, the doctor already looked irritated, Sherlock noted, and at seeing the Italian hold the door, he barely managed a stiff smile and a thank you. John was dressed in his normal attire, naturally, which made Sherlock feel a bit better, as he himself had thrown on his own normal attire, except for the deep purple shirt that John seemed to like so much. Meeting Sherlock's eyes, John looked resigned.

"So, who are we stalking 'round London today, then?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again, looking confused and a bit worried. John cast his eyes over the rose petals gracing the hallway's tile, frowning even more. He couldn't help but think that Sherlock had ruined some poor soul's engagement party by parading the Scotland Yard in or by deducing someone's criminal habits.

"Ah, actually, I was hoping we could have dinner."

John shook his head, deciding not to ask, as he stopped before the detective and raised his eyebrows.

"You know what I always get, you could've ordered."

"A bit pissed off today?"

"Yes, actually."

The doctor brushed by Sherlock, still thinking the worst as he headed into the dining room.

"Angelo, can I please - Oh… Wow."

John stood in the middle of the room, looking around in amazement. It had been beautifully decorated with just the right amount of cheesy love-related decor. Considering all the candles were lit, however, he returned to his original hypothesis of Sherlock running the guests out somehow. Turning on his heel to finally ask him what the bloody hell he had done, he stopped as he realized that Sherlock was down on one knee, looking up at him anxiously.

"John, I know that I'm not the best at this sort of thing, and I know that I don't always show you the affection that you deserve. But as my best friend, my flat mate, my lover, the center of my life, I have a proposal for you."

Sherlock cleared his throat, pulling out the little box and placing it on his open palm. Watching John's eyes widen and his whole stature tense, the detective plowed on.

"John Hamish Watson, I was wondering if you would grace this sociopath, who loves you more than you could ever know, with your hand in marriage."

With that, the detective opened the little box, revealing a thick silver band nestled among white velvet as he caught the doctor's gaze, raising his eyebrows hopefully.

"Sherlock, you're a bloody prat. "

John promptly stalked forward, grabbed the detective's face, and kissed him deeply. Rising to his feet with a small smirk, Sherlock touched his forehead to the doctor's and looked into his eyes.

"Is that a yes? I'm not really good with this kind of thing -"

Interrupting him with another kiss, John grinned.

"Of course it's a yes."


	5. Domestics

**A/N: Let me start out by saying that I am so sorry, everyone.  
This chapter isn't the best, but real life has been kicking my arse in time consumption.  
I hope someone enjoys it, regardless.  
Hopefully I'll have an update much sooner next time!**

* * *

The next couple of months were different. At times, the days would fly by and time would just disappear. At others, like today, Sherlock couldn't wait for the day to end. Thankfully, Mycroft had mostly left Sherlock out of the wedding process, relying on John to make the majority of the decisions. However, John valued Sherlock's opinion on trivial matters far too much, and it was beginning to drive the consulting detective mad. Sherlock had thus far been asked his opinions on things like location (as if he cared), the colors of the decorations (bor-ring), and even how many guests were to be invited (as if he had many friends to invite, anyway).

Now John had dragged him along to taste cakes and pick out official wedding invitations. They had already sent out "save the dates" which were ridiculous, of course, and now they were going to be sending out another reminder of what day they were to married. In Sherlock's opinion, if they hadn't wanted to write down the date the first time, the guests weren't going to want to write it down the second time they were notified.

The detective had been trying not to complain too much, to appease John, but they were about to taste the fifteenth flavor of wedding cake and he had had enough.

"Sherlock, what do you think of this one? It's a red velvet cake, quite delicious and -"

"John, I'm not going to taste any more cakes."

"But Sherlock - "

"No. If you wanted someone to taste fifty different kinds of cake, you should have brought Mycroft."

"Sherlock, I'm not marrying Mycroft."

"I'm aware."

Staring up at his fiance defiantly, John scowled as Sherlock blankly stared back down at him. The baker looked between the two, getting annoyed, and cleared her throat loudly. Both men glared at her from across the counter top before John sighed, giving in and thus giving up.

"Yes, fine, we'll take the extreme chocolate that had the sauce inside of it, with navy blue, cream, and yellow fondant."

Grinning brightly despite Sherlock's obvious contempt, the baker wrote down the order and had both men sign it.

"You'll love it, dears. And congratulations. I even custom ordered two groomsmen cake toppers that look like the two of you. The other Mr. Holmes provided your pictures in advance."

It was really too much for Sherlock to handle, so instead of getting angry at the baker, he promptly turned on his heel and stormed out of the shop. He was in the process of hailing a cab when John finally emerged from the bakery, red-faced and pissed off.

"Really, Sherlock, she's just doing her job and trying to do it well."

The detective looked down at the doctor and snorted.

"Customized cake toppers, John?"

Sherlock shook his head, stepping out into the street as a cab stopped before them. Climbing in, John gave the driver the address of the stationary shop they were to visit, with a heavy glare from his fiance.

"Get over it, Sherlock, really."

"It's ridiculous."

"And you're being a twat about it!" The doctor shot back, crossing his arms over his chest and staring out of the window.

"Pouting won't change anything, John."

"Bugger off. I'm not pouting."

"You are pouting, John, and it's not very becoming."

Whipping his head around to glare at Sherlock, John pursed his lips before going back to staring out the window angrily.

A few moments later found them getting out of the cab at the stationary shop, still not speaking to one another. The two men entered the shop and John only took ten minutes to pick out a heavy ivory-colored paper, an elegant black font, and a mixture of black and silver filigree design to decorate the rest of the invitation. Sherlock didn't speak and John never bothered asking for his opinion. Secretly satisfied, the detective led the way outside and into another cab to head over to Mycroft's estate to have the first fitting done on both of their tuxedos.

This was their last wedding activity for a while, and quite frankly, Sherlock was tremendously pleased with the thought. He wanted to marry the man he loved, not put on a spectacle for the world to see. Unfortunately, Mycroft always made events like this far too extravagant, and he was confident that the actual wedding would be a nightmare of too many flowers, family members, and pleasantries.

When they finally arrived at Mycroft's estate, John had once again stormed out and in ahead of the detective, and Sherlock was none-too-kindly allowing him to pout in silence. They entered Mycroft's office, sitting in the two available chairs in front of the desk, in total silence. Mycroft entered the room, took one look between them, and let out a tutting laugh.

"Ah, I see we've had a little domestic over the wedding plans, hmm?"


	6. Jitters

**A/N: Gosh, I'm a terrible person. Cliff hangers and all.  
I hope you all enjoy this update, even if it's terribly late and I'm very sorry for that.  
Life got in the way of writing again. Sorry!  
If it makes anyone feel any better I'm co-writing a Johnlock story which I'll be posting the first chapter to soon.  
Hugs!**

* * *

Finally, it was here: the big day, the wedding of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Sherlock had already dressed in his lovely new black tuxedo, complete with fresh-pressed white shirt, shiny leather shoes, and a blue iris tucked into his lapel. Fussing with the small flower, the detective tried to keep his mind away from his nervous thoughts of getting married in front of a whole bunch of people that he didn't care for. The press had already been outside when he had arrived at the Sandringham House (unfortunately) and that had only added to his anxiety. He wanted to just marry John and get it over with.

'_Blue flowers symbolize intimacy, calm feelings, and long-term trust in England's popular culture. Germany's culture believes that blue flowers symbolize inspiration and the desire for the unattainable. All fitting, I suppose, and of course it was Mycroft's idea -'_

The detective's thoughts were interrupted as Anthea, Mycroft's long-time assistant, opened the door without preamble and shut it behind her.

"The rings, Mister Holmes," She spoke with her usual bored tone, holding out her hand.

Sherlock pulled a small box out of his pocket and laid it in her palm, looking sour at the reminder that he wasn't allowed to wear his wedding band until the silly ceremony was over with. The small woman left the room, texting as usual, and Sherlock was only able to wait thirty two seconds before he opened the door and quietly made his way down the hall. Peeking around the corner, he froze at what he saw. There were far too many guests in attendance, and quite frankly, the decorations were over the top. The Sandringham House was already beautiful, and Mycroft had absolutely forced someone to throw blue, cream, and yellow on nearly everything in sight.

The detective shook his head, turning back and beginning the retreat into his dressing room at the end of the hall. Opening the door quietly, Sherlock was not altogether surprised to see Mycroft raising his eyebrows at the detective from the seat in front of the mirror as he closed the door behind him, sighing dramatically.

"Ah, little brother. Just like a child, you cannot seem to suppress the urge to look."

* * *

Meanwhile, John had just tied his bow tie and slipped his own blue iris into the buttonhole on his lapel, studying himself in the mirror. The black tuxedo looked good, as it was tailored to perfectly match John's body to show off the good parts and hide the bad, also known as his bubble butt. (Much to Sherlock's disappointment when John had mentioned it to him after the last fitting.) The two men had not gotten to see one another in their wedding tuxedos as of yet, and John smiled at the thought of seeing Sherlock at the altar shortly.

A soft knock at the door made him jump, reeling out of his thoughts of Sherlock and the honeymoon they were to leave for in a few hours.

"Come in."

Anthea poked her head in with her normal expressionless face and raised her eyebrows.

"It's time to go get married, Dr. Watson."

The woman smiled ever so slightly as John frantically glanced back into the mirror before nodding, crossing the room to the door.

"Alright then."

The pair walked in silence down a long, beautiful stone hallway before making a right hand turn and pausing before the large arched entrance to the wedding hall, just out of sight.

"You know what to do: wait for the music to change and then join Sherlock."

Without further ado, the small woman left him there as she walked down the foyer a bit and slid into a side door. John looked down at his hands, trying to keep his breathing calm and even as he listened to the music begin to slow. Wiping his damp palms onto his trousers, he let out a deep breath before standing up straight, assuring himself that nothing would go wrong as a new song began.

After all, he was just marrying the most brilliant sociopath in London.

With a smile, he walked forward and turned into the wedding hall.


	7. Marriages

**A/N: The long-awaited wedding scene.**  
**It isn't what I wanted it to be, that's for sure, but time. /sigh**  
**Regardless, I hope you've all enjoyed this!**  
**I was thinking about writing a slashy stand-alone for the honeymoon.**  
**What does everyone think?**  
**Thank you all, as always, for reading!**

* * *

Sherlock stood by the altar, back straight and face nearly blank as he watched the little flower girl (Lestrade's daughter, no less) sway down the aisle and sprinkle blue and ivory rose petals as she went. He was waiting for the moment when the music would change and his husband-to-be would join him at the front of the large venue. Flickering his eyes across the crowd, he noted the few familiar faces on both sides of the aisle, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes as Mrs. Hudson went ahead and dug a handkerchief out of her handbag. This was no occasion to cry, and Sherlock had never understood why it was that there was always someone bawling at weddings.

Lestrade's daughter swayed off to the side as she finished her walk, and there was a small pause (2.19 seconds, Sherlock noted nervously) before a new song began to play. Almost immediately John rounded the corner, alone, as they had decided he didn't need anyone to give him away, and his parents had passed away years ago, regardless. They had also decided not to have any groomsmen or really a wedding party at all, due to the fact that they didn't see the need in it. The doctor walked down the aisle nervously, eyes flickering to and from different members of the crowd, afraid that if he saw Sherlock he might trip or get distracted and start walking far too fast.

Sherlock was admiring John as he walked, thinking how handsome the tuxedo was that he was dressed in and how in just a few moments they were to be married. He smiled slightly at the thought, watching as John avoided his gaze.

_Husbands. Together for the rest of our lives…_

When John finally reached the altar, he carefully stepped up onto the small raised platform and raised his eyes to meet Sherlock's. In that moment, both of them drew a breath and reached forward to entwine their fingers on both hands, each amazed in his own way that he was lucky enough to be here and about to be married to his soul mate. The two turned their gazes to the wedding official, listening and repeating words that were supposed to officially tie the two of them together forever. However, they were already linked and tangled beyond recognition: two souls as one.

"You may kiss the groom."

Sherlock reached down, lightly grasping the tops of John's arms as John simultaneously wrapped his arms around the detective's neck, pulling themselves closer. Sherlock kissed the doctor deeply, each man enjoying the roughness of one another's lips and the happiness that particular kiss brought. Breaking away gently, Sherlock entwined his fingers with John's once more as they turned to face the crowd, both men grinning like idiots.

"I now pronounce you Mr. and Mr. Watson-Holmes."

The crowd, of course, went into a clapping, crying frenzy before people began to rush forward and pat or hug and congratulate the two men on their marriage. The crowd parted, however, as the two grinning men made their way back down the aisle and out into the reception hall to take photographs. Sherlock only lasted ten minutes, however, before he lost his temper once more.

"Really, that's enough photographs. I'm ready to dance with my husband now, thank you."

Leading John away from the photographer, the smaller man looked up and smiled brightly at his husband, impressed.

"You lasted an entire ten minutes. I expected only five."

"I tried to suffer through it for you."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the doctor as he laughed, leading him onto the dance floor.

"May I have this dance, Dr. Watson-Holmes?"

Sherlock had done a half-bow, hand outstretched, with a wonderful smirk across his face. John smiled, taking his husband's hand and pretending to hesitate.

"Well, I suppose just one dance will be alright."

Following cat calls from the audience, a wedding waltz that Sherlock had composed himself floated through the speakers, and the two men had their first dance as husbands, eyes never leaving the other's. As the song ended, the two bowed with faint amusement on Sherlock's part, before the detective pulled John close again, one arm around his waist and one hand on his husband's jaw.

"I love you, John."

"As I love you, Sherlock."

The men shared another deep kiss, Sherlock's tongue tracing the doctor's bottom lip quickly before they parted, nearly breathless.

"Just you wait until the honeymoon, Doctor. The things I will do to you…"

John's face reddened deeply, and Sherlock's face only grew into a wider smirk at the man's wide-eyed response.

"I can't wait."


End file.
